Here's To You
by Joon
Summary: Life after near death proves to be difficult for Crowley (Sequel to Earthly Possessions)--FINISHED! *3/31*
1. Apathy

Well, erm....here I am again. Back so soon with what will hopefully   
be a tentative sequel to "Earthly Possessions". I'm still thinking   
this story through but I thought I'd post the first part to   
gauge...well, reader interest.   
  
So, here it is. Please let me know what you guys think.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Title: Replay  
Author: Jane  
Timeline: Set after Fic Earthly Possessions  
Archive: Sure, just ask.  
  
Feedback: YES. Oh, yes, PLEASE! Here or send to:   
omenesque2001@y... I am desperate for feedback, always.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone here other than possibly my version of   
God. All obvious characters belong to Gneil and Pterry. The Metatron   
might be more Kevin Smith Dogma-esque, than theirs, though.  
  
Summary: Getting back on your feet after being dead is not as easy as   
it looks.  
Warnings: So far I can only think of angst. May change as parts go by.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hmmmm....."

"I always get a bit antsy when you say that, y'know," grimaced the Metatron. 

"I'm thinking."

"Oh, right. Nice to know our Omnipotent Almighty needs to take a step back and ponder. It's just a decoy so that people won't think you actually *know* everything..."

"Metatron." That was a friendly warning. The seraphim had no doubt that the next warning would not be so friendly. He shut himself up and waited as God pondered. Finally, God spoke. "Something...something is not quite right."

+++++++++++++++++

Of all the things on Earth Crowley was proud of, the home shopping network ranked high on his list of top ten. It wasn't the eye-catching spectacle the Spanish Inquisition had been but it was a subtle piece of work, which the demon took great satisfaction in. A channel completely devoted to having insipidly annoying salespersons peddling utter rubbish. It would result in people turning the channel in utter irritation or someone purchasing a sinfully ugly ceramic swan motif tea set. All in all, it was a damn good idea if Crowley said so himself. 

Draped over his leather recliner, the demon watched as a disturbingly chubby doll went up for sale at a 160 pounds. Outside his flat, London was having a rare sunny day. And while days like this required Crowley to be extra diligent in speading some misery, the idea of going out into the bright light did not appeal to him. At all.

Looking down slightly from the TV, the demon saw a bright red digital 9 stare back up at him from the answerphone that was sitting by his chair. He had listened to the messages, all from the same person, all adding up to one message, last week. Waving a hand, he erased them. He hadn't spoken to Aziraphale in awhile. His general feelings concerning the angel was now more or less wrapped up in a blanket of other moods that seemed to be plaguing him. 

*Give yourself a break* commented a voice in his head. *You did come back from non-existance.*

That was true. Thanks to Aziraphale, who had somehow scored the unthinkable bargain with his peers and had managed to save him from being the latest demonic victim at the hands of Holy Water. And he was quite grateful and thrilled to be alive. For the most part. Yes, for the most part.

Reaching down past the recliner's arm, Crowley picked up the black/silver phone that had been resting against chair and dialed Aziraphale's bookshop. It rang eight times before the familiar click of an answerphone went off and Crowley's own voice spoke to him. Aziraphale had never been able to bring himself to leaving a rude, uninviting message on his machine and had ended up asking Crowley to leave him a few varying tapes he could use. The demon had been more than happy to supply.

"Hello, you've reached Slap & Tickle. For Bondage Betty, please press one. For No-Nonsense Nina, please press two. For Wrestling Wanda, please press three. For all other Sirens of S&M mastery, please leave a message after the tone." 

*beep*

"Aziraphale, pick up," commanded Crowley. He waited a few seconds as silence greeted him. "Did you even listen to half of these tapes I left you before you popped one in? Or have you developed some sort of new fetish I'm unaware of?"

There was a brief sound like a small clack and the sound of Aziraphale's slightly winded tone. "Hello? Crowley?"

"How'd you guess?"

"It is you. Usually your away messages are good enough to send anyone else away," replied the angel. 

"Really?" Crowley would have thought the bondage one might attract more customers to the bookshop. He would have to work on a few more tapes to give Aziraphale. 

"I'm glad you called. Did you get my messages?" asked the angel.

"Yeah. All nine parts."

"It's quite difficult to leave an appropriate message on that machine of yours. It kept cutting me off."

"That's the point."

"Oh."

"So, what are you doing?"

"I was upstairs, getting ready to go out. You really should enjoy the day, Crowley, it's beautiful."

"No thanks. It's too bright."

"You wear sunglasses," pointed out the angel. 

"It's too bright," repeated Crowley with the same tone one might address a slightly deaf or mentally challenged child. 

"Shouldn't you be out there ruining some people's day or something?" inquired the slightly teasing voice.

"Is that a challenge?" asked the demon, flippantly.

"Well, if a little *sunlight* stops you..."

"Nnnghh." Crowley added a noncommital shrug that the angel obviously couldn't see. His eyes wandered back to his TV where now a miniature pram was being sold with stuffed ducks made out of silk. "Going back to my earlier question, did you listen to any of my away messages that I gave you?" 

"I listened to a few," admitted Aziraphale. "I just rotate the rest every week, though. I'm sure they're quite effective."

It was obvious to Crowley that Aziraphale had obviously not listened to the third tape he had left him. The angel would most likely have flown over to give him back all the tapes, if he had burnt them first in a moment of angelic indignation. 

"Come out to lunch at least," invited Aziraphale. "We haven't had lunch in awhile."

Crowley thought about it for a moment. It dawned on him that he wasn't even sure what day of the week it was. When had time gotten so elusive? He made a mental note to look into that when he could bring himself up to care. "Crowley? Crowley?" called a persistant voice from the other line. 

*Oh. Right. Lunch.*

"I think I'll take a raincheck," replied the demon. 

"Oh. Alright, then. When'll I get to see you?"

Crowley gave another shrug that the angel obviously couldn't see. "I'm always around. You know that," he answered, feeling rather tired of talking. "Sorry. I'll catch you later," he added before letting the phone drop from his hand and land neatly back on his cradle. 

On the TV, a Dr. Who design china plate set was being sold. Crowley could easily feel several people in all parts of London go into a blacker mood by a fraction, despite the weather. He, himself, felt strangely discontented with the effect. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As usual, FEEDBACK will bring about me writing more and answering the question as to why Crowley has morphed into a couch potato.


	2. Greetings

*Ah....a Wednesday* Crowley noticed as he consulted his calendar. He then realized that he hadn't changed the month pages of the calendar for quite some time. He knew that it couldn't possibly still be February. After ripping off a few sheets, he took another look. *Ah....a Monday*

By the state of his couch, his recliner, the living room and the stock of his liquor cabinet, the demon estimated he had spent at least a week and a half in his flat without setting a foot out of it. It was probably a record length of time for him to stay in so long at his London place. There was that century long nap he had taken once. It had been a rather disorienting surprise to wake up and find himself surrounded by the building's ruins after a 100 years and a rather disapproving note from Aziraphale pinned to his shirt.

Keeping his shades firmly over his eyes, Crowley padded over to his window and peeked out. Behind him the theme song to X-Files filtered out of his television set. London was back to its cloudy self, which suited Crowley just fine. But it still seemed a trifle too bright for some reason. Frowning, the demon darkened the tint to his glasses until a normal person would have been unable to see his hand in front of his face. That made it a little better. 

As the demon listlessly moved back to the near vicinity of the television set, his plants twittered slightly towards one another. If plants were able, they would be frowning. Something was incredibly off. After a moment of silent debating between the luscious ferns, one finally performed the ultimate acid test and let itself droop very noticeably. The others turned their attention to Crowley, whom they knew could see very well from where he sat the wilted looking plant. 

The demon took no notice, however and continued merely shut off the television set during the middle of one of Mulder's sentences. The plants grew a little more nervous. This could be the calm before the storm. And if Crowley got any calmer or more apathetic, the storm was expected to be an incomparable tsunami. 

"CROWLEY."

The demon looked only momentarily stunned as he still had the remote control pointed to the television set from where the voice emanated from. He rubbed an eye under his glasses. He really didn't need this right now.

"Hello, Lord."

"YOU HAVE A MEETING TODAY, CROWLEY."

"Erm....No, I don'—I mean, I do?" amended the demon. 

"HE HAS TAKEN UP THE POST LEFT BY YOUR FORMER ASSOCIATES."

Crowley's expression darkened slightly at that. "He's taken over both of Hastur and Ligur's posts?"

"WE ARE ECONOMIZING. PLUS, HE IS VERY GOOD AT WHAT HE DOES. VERY RESOURCEFUL."

"That's...great," tried Crowley, helpfully.

"YOU ARE MEETING WITH HIM TODAY. YOUR CONTACT WITH HIM WILL BE THE SAME AS YOUR USUAL WITH YOUR LAST TWO COLLEAGUES."

"If it could possibly just wa—" Crowley got about that far before the information he needed got dumped into his head with little ceremony. And then the Presence was gone. The demon winced as the new data pushed and shoved its way into his brain, no doubt bullying the other facts he kept up there. 

3pm, Bakerloo Station.

*Well,* grimaced the demon. *At least if it the meeting place was the underground, it'll be nice and dark. Almost like home.*

That felt comforting in an odd sort of way.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Aziraphale noticed, sometime between the miso soup and his order of the Jumbo Sushi platter that he had never eaten out alone before. It struck the angel now as rather obvious that he would never really eat if Crowley weren't around. It was usually the demon that prodded and tempted Aziraphale into indulging in something he obviously didn't really need. 

Leaning back in his seat, the angel stared at the empty booth across from him. It looked a lot more empty now than it had before. 

Now that he was on that track, Aziraphale began to think that it had been nearly two solid weeks since he had last even spoken to Crowley. The demon was being strangely elusive these days...almost disinterested in going past his front door. It unnerved the angel slightly, however that the general feeling of disgruntlement in London had not decreased very much since Crowley's new stint as a hermit. 

But this wasn't like Crowley. Aziraphale had known him for over 6000 years and this was definitely not like the demon. He could have his moods, as was usual with most demons but this didn't seem like the usual morose spell. Slapping his hand rather decisively on the table, Aziraphale muttered, "Rubbish, I didn't help save the world from destruction and then save him from non-existence just so he could whittle away the rest of his days as a recluse."

"Uh...sir?"

Looking up, the angel saw a waiter, wearing a puzzled expression, holding his sushi platter. 

"Sorry," apologized Aziraphale. "You didn't hear that."

"No, of course not," replied the waiter. He wasn't patronizing, he really hadn't. At least, now he hadn't. He set the impressive looking dish in front of the angel and scurried away. 

After a moment's consideration, Aziraphale hailed the waiter back and asked him to wrap it. He'd be taking it out. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FEEDBACK please! It's what keeps a writer going.


	3. Lynch

Alright, this is the last freebie post. No one's really replied so I'm assuming that me taking a hiatus on this isn't going to cause anyone any grief. 

So, enjoy the next bit.

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Lynch focused in on a small sized rat that maneuvered in between the metal railings of the Bakerloo Station tracks. It's beady eyes looked up at Lynch for a moment. Experimentally running his tongue over his newly acquired teeth, Lynch gave the rat a perfect grin. The rat seemingly shuddered and then scurried away.

Lynch would stand about half an inch taller than Crowley, aided by his dark-red brown hair that curled and fluffed a good inch from his head. He was dressed in black slacks, shoes, and a black dress shirt with a dark blue tie that was slightly loosened from his neck. His outfit, complete with a black coat slung casually over his arm gave Lynch the look of a young man who had just gotten off of work from his post as a hit man for the mob. 

It was a different vein of style from Crowley's favorite form, but Lynch did have style. Style and his own demonic flair that had finally landed him a position upside. Lynch had gone the usual route of bribing a few high officials as well as incapacitating the few in front of him in line for a promotion. But in the end, the demon had put his shoulder to the grind-stone and had worked hard to get noticed by the Council and score himself a post on Earth. Lynch had always been intrigued by Earth. He, out of all the demons in Hell, was most diligent in reading each and every scrap of information the serpent Crowley had sporadically sent down. 

While it wasn't really in true form for a demon, Lynch rather admired Crowley. The serpent had been up there since Day One. Lynch could only imagine the kind of passive, maniacal fun that was to be had. He had gotten his first real taste of Earth around the early beginnings of the 20th Century and had vowed to one day get a permanent job there. 

So, he had been rather upset when he had discovered it was about to be obliterated by the powers of Heaven and Hell in their War. Luckily, a certain serpent had gotten in the way. It was another reason why Lynch was so keen on meeting him. If demon's had heroes, Crowley would no doubt be Lynch's. 

+++++++++++++++

The Bakerloo Station was curiously empty by the time Crowley arrived close to 3pm. Or rather, nearly empty. The demon noticed one huddled figure in the corner, snoring through an alcohol-aided sleep. It appeared as if he hadn't moved from that corner for at least a couple of days. Eyeing the noisy sleeper for a moment through his dark glasses, Crowley looked up and saw the second figure standing several feet away from him at the other end of the platform.

There were no trains coming to the station at the moment. And Crowley had a feeling it was because his new associate had ordered all trains to be delayed until their meeting was over. From the other end of the platform, the tall figure lifted his head from his musings and observations of a few stray rats near the track. Spotting Crowley, he began to walk over. 

"Mr. Crowley? Anthony J. Crowley?" 

"Just Crowley," replied Crowley. 

"Very pleased to meet you at last," beamed the other man. "Tobias Lynch. It's a personal honor for me to meet you," continued Lynch, a charming smile stamped on his face. "I've read all the reports on you. Right from Day One in the Garden of Eden."

"Yeah?" inquired Crowley.  He studied the almost ridiculously boyish face. But it was rather obvious to Crowley that Lynch was anything BUT boyish. It was in the demon's eyes. A kind of sharp maliciousness that sparkled in what looked like brown eyes at first but upon closer inspection was exposed to be a very deep red. The color of dried blood. And judging by the clothes that Lynch wore as well as his manner, Crowley knew the demon wasn't fit material to be a Duke of Hell like Hastur. 

No, this chap was obviously quite clever. And devious. 

"I've been following your work for quite sometime," continued Lynch. "Marvelous stuff. Your work in the mass addiction to the Internet was particularly brilliant. Very subtle, very clever, that."

"Err..thanks," replied Crowley, feeling almost flattered. 

"Most of our colleagues Down Under remember you best for the classics. You know, the Spanish Inquisition and the Garden of Eden, of course," said Lynch as the two began to travel slowly to the other end of the platform. "It's a pity, really. Kind of like that bloke, George Harrison. Does brilliant work in the past but couldn't get out of his own shadow with his newer music. A bloody shame."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "You know who George Harrison is?" Hastur and Ligur hadn't even known who George Washington was.

Lynch fixed his colleague with a mildly surprised look. "One fourth of the former Beatles. I've been keeping up with pop culture up here ever since the 20th century. The music arena is quite interesting. David Bowie, Freddy Mercury, Phil Collins, Nirvana, Pearl Jam...."

Crowley blinked through his sunglasses. He wasn't used to this. It was almost as if Lynch was showing some competence in his field. "Erm...so...Lynch, how'd you land a post here?" he asked, conversationally.

Lynch gave him a lupine smile. "Oh, I've been doing very good consulting work for awhile. I was too junior to do any hands on work like Duke Hastur. But I did get noticed for my job on Hiroshima."

Crowley's eyebrows rose from beneath his sunglasses. "You worked on Hiroshima?"

"It was some of my better stuff," admitted Lynch, proudly. "Lots of suggestive work, lots of networking. Got the job done though, which pleased our Lord no end. So, it was mainly that that got me up here."

"Congratulations," said Crowley, feeling slightly rustic in the presence of Lynch bubbling enthusiasm. 

"I am looking forward to be working with you, Crowley," said Lynch with some honest meaning. "I've been drawing up some ideas and plans and would love to get your input on them."

"Um...sure but...the thing is, Lynch," began the other demon. "These meetings are more of a formality. We don't really *plan* things," he added as the two began to walk up to the London streets.

"Don't you think it's time for a change?" inquired Lynch, sounding on the whole innocent in that slightly nagging bastard way. "I mean, your work so far has been quite good but there are still *several* areas in England alone that could do with a push in the right direction."

Crowley knew that. He could list the areas for Lynch as those were the areas he had agreed to forgo when he and Aziraphale had made the Agreement. It was starting to dawn on Crowley that Lynch was a whole new kind of headache. He hadn't been fond of Hastur and Ligur, but at least they had been elitist enough not to really care how he spent his time tempting the people of Earth. They hadn't known about his Agreement with Aziraphale and despite his most recent tryst with Lucifer over the whole Armageddon thing as well as his near death, Crowley doubted anyone else knew about the Agreement. 

But Lynch had the look of a rabid bloodhound about him. Which could mean trouble....

"Is that the Bentley?" asked Lynch in a barely disguised excited voice. Crowley followed Lynch's long pointing finger that was aimed at the precious car. It was parked just across the street from the Station, despite the fact that a parking spot *really* shouldn't be there. 

"Yeah, that's the Bentley," acknowledged Crowley, sounding for the first time rather dejected in talking about his car. 

Lynch turned his dark red eyes to the demon. "Can we go for a ride?"

"Haven't you been in a car before?" asked Crowley, a bit jeeringly. "I would think you'd have researched that already."

"Yeah, but never a Bentley," stated Lynch, his eyes roving back to the black machine. "Those things aren't just cars...they're like a coveted accessory item."

Sighing, Crowley stepped off the curb towards the Bentley, leaving an unspoken invitation to Lynch, who bounded eagerly behind him. 


	4. Welcome

Amazing what a little threat or two will do, eh? 

Honestly, with finals coming up and other recently transpired events, I will have to be writing this in small bursts that will show up rather far between each other. But here's one I already had half-finished when I put the third chapter up. Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keeping a hand on the steering wheel, Crowley gave Tobias Lynch a sidelong look as the other demon investigated the contents of the Bentley's glove compartment. Pulling out a few tapes, Lynch looked indecisive as to what he wanted to hear.

"Don't bother," said Crowley. "It's all gone Queen, anyway."

"How'd that happen?" inquired Lynch.

Crowley shrugged and glowered slightly as the other demon shoved a tape into the player. He really didn't appreciate anyone messing around with his stuff. In a few seconds, "Sheer Heart Attack" came bursting the speakers. Next to Crowley, Lynch grinned, his perfect teeth gleaming. 

"I love this car," stated Lynch, running a hand over smooth seat. 

"Don't think it really matches your look," commented Crowley, dispassionately.

Lynch regarded his clothes. "I figured you couldn't really go wrong with black. Your basics, you know."

"You look like a long lost Corleone brother."

Lynch grinned and snapped his fingers. "Godfather, right? Trilogy film, Marlon Brando? Am I right?"

"Yeah, right," sighed Crowley, wondering if he should just concentrate hard and have the Bentley open its door, throwing Lynch out. 

"Brilliant film," commented Lynch. He eyed Crowley's own wardrobe. "Well, I thought you'd approve of taking styles from the movies. Didn't you get your look from that American bloke? James somebody?"

"No," Crowley answered, firmly.

"Or was it that Irishman? The one who fronts that band named after the plane? Chap with the one name?"

"He took it from me," stated the demon from behind his sunglasses. "I was here first." Charging the Bentley down the busied streets, Crowley utilized the full power of his horn and took his annoyance out on a group of schoolchildren who insisted on crossing the street at a snail's pace. As Crowley maneuvered the car past them, he blessed grimly. "Bloody kids."

"Don't worry," said Lynch, lightly. "They'll get theirs. Collective chaos is my specialty."

Crowley frowned. "What?" Lynch only gave him the same lupine smile as before. "Do need to be dropped off anywhere?" he asked, instead.

"Can we check out yours?"

"What? My flat?" 

"Yeah, I've always been curious."

Crowley's car phone rang before he could respond with a vehement NO. Beating Lynch to the phone, which Crowley could just tell he was eager to try out, he barked a short, "What?" into the mouthpiece. 

"Crowley?" It was Aziraphale.

"Why the hell are you calling me on this phone for?" demanded the demon. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small, tiny, anemic, often absent voice told him none of this in anyway was the angel's fault. But somehow, as Crowley smacked the little voice away, he could *very* well work out a way in which every misery in his life at the moment was Aziraphale's fault. To begin with, he was chattering off in his ear, adding to his headache.

"Well, you weren't answering your other phone," said the angel. 

"Gee, can you imagine what THAT could mean?" asked Crowley, acidly. Crowley could practically see the taken aback look on the angel's face that mixed with the usual dogged expression Aziraphale sported. 

There was a bit of a pause.

"Is something wrong?" asked Aziraphale, cautiously. 

"No," answered Crowley, darkly. He noticed Lynch giving him a curious look.

"You sound upset. And I haven't seen you in awhile. Are you feeling alright?"

While the angel couldn't see the demon roll his eyes, Crowley made sure the gesture could be heard in his tone. "What the hell are you? My blessed wife?" demanded Crowley. He threw the phone back into its small cradle before Aziraphale could answer. He mentally shut it off as well. 

"Who was that?" asked Lynch, curiously.

"No one," muttered the demon. Turning a sharp corner, he waved the Bentley's passenger door open. "End of the ride, Lynch. Nice chatting with you but if you'll just sod off now."

Surprisingly without any complaint, Lynch climbed out of the car and shrugged on his black coat. It fitted his form quite well, accentuating his height. "Thanks for the drive, Crowley," he said, cheerfully. "Maybe next time I can see your place."

"In your dreams, Toby," replied Crowley.

"And have some of that marvelous sushi, *Anthony*," said Lynch, leaning down into the Bentley again from the outside. The wolf-like smile on Lynch's face had ever bit of the "I can be a bastard with the best of them" kind of look. "I've been meaning to try the food up here."

Giving Lynch a last look, Crowley slammed his foot on the gas pedal and the Bentley lurched forward, narrowly missing taking Lynch's head off. Watching the black car disappear around the bend, the black-clad demon smiled almost benignly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know what needs to be done. FB and all of that.


	5. Breakup

Here's the next part.

Thank to you everyone who has been leaving me feedback. It's really the stuff the keeps me writing, knowing that there are readers out there who read and find it enjoyable. B/c hey, no one else is going to be reading this. Certainly not a publisher and I pray to whoever is in control, not Pterry or Gneil. I'd just about kill myself then. 

But in any case, here's the next part. I'm glad people like reading about Lynch b/c he's going to figure rather heavily in the later parts. 

And we also have a title change! I usually hate doing those b/c I have a sinking feeling people will not know it's the same story but it really is! I just through "Replay" no longer worked. 

So, without further ado, the next part to: "Here's To You"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had begun to rain by the time Crowley pulled the Bentley up to the front of his apartment. Not bothering to even pretend like he cared about the rules, the demon parked the car in an area that was obviously marked "Do Not Park" and mentally dared anyone to challenge his decision to wholly ignore the sign. Although he could easily snap away the clamps should a police officer saw fit to do so, he left behind a distinct *feeling* near the Bentley that if any copper felt a compulsion to put on clamps, he should think again.

The bodybuilder who lived under Crowley had moved out recently and newlyweds who spent most of their time shagging in their apartment were now occupying that flat. It was all for pure lust, the demon knew from the moment he had laid eyes on the attractive couple. He could see so easily that a year from now the attraction would be gone and the marriage would be over. Crowley concentrated on that to cheer himself up as he walked up the steps to his own flat. 

The demon was pondering over just how much of a problem Lynch might be when he raised his hand to open his door. He froze on that motion when he sensed something distinctly....*holy* on the other side of the door. Had it been a year ago, Crowley would have simply waved the door open from a good distance and then readied himself for whatever nonsense was coming his way. But that had been before. Before his run in with a holy water-filled humidifier. Before his momentary demise. 

Crowley suddenly felt ill. And the thought of opening his door with the possibility that something blessed was on the other side only made him feel worse. A phantom pain nagged inside of him and the demon unconsciously fingered his chest in memory of the searing burns that had once been there. The more he thought about it, the more attractive turning on his heels and running sounded to Crowley. 

But Crowley was a demon. And like all other demons, he was not without pride. As the stood, frozen to the spot, Crowley's own arrogance mentally smacked him and gave him a rather embarrassing image of himself running away from the door to his own flat. It also promised without question to replay that image to Crowley for all of eternity if he chose to follow the image's example.  

Taking a deep breath that he did not need but found somewhat comforting nonetheless, Crowley held in the air and waved his door open. He was prepared to leap back should he even hear the faintest hissing sound of a humidifier. There was nothing. That somehow doubled the demon's fear. The silence lingered as the door opened all the way and from where he stood, back pressed against a wall, Crowley saw his couch, chair, television, and....

"Is that you, Crowley?"

Aziraphale.

The angel. Of course. It made perfect sense to the demon why he had felt something holy behind his door. It was Aziraphale. Harmless, passive, benign, HOLY Aziraphale who was currently peering over at him from the leather couch. Crowley felt immensely stupid right then. He could only imagine how ridiculous he looked, cowering by a wall. At the helpful pictures his arrogance provided, the demon's mood darkened even more and his anger flared slightly. 

"What the hell are you doing in my flat?" demanded Crowley as he stormed in. He slammed the door hard behind him, causing the locks to protest. Seeing the angel open his mouth to respond he quickly continued. "And if you say you were worried I *will* break your angelic head against the coffee table."

Aziraphale closed his mouth to reconsider his answer. While he did, Crowley walked around the area of his flat, attempting to look like he had a purpose in doing so. Mainly it was to buy some time as he continued to order himself to calm down and not recall the bad memories that insisted on surfacing. He looked over at Aziraphale again who was exuding his natural peacefulness. Crowley felt an overwhelming urge to be comforted by the tranquility and bristled at his dependency on it.

"I brought you sushi," Aziraphale finally said, having chosen his answer. He indicated the package that sat on the aforementioned coffee table. 

"Why?" asked Crowley. He caught himself rubbing a non-existent burn on his chest and stopped his movement.

Blinking behind his lenses, the blond angel looked adorably innocent in his usual manner at the demon's query. "You like sushi. It was leftover from lunch and I thought you might like it." 

The words were said logically and were very friendly. But that was the bulk of the problem. Crowley stared at Aziraphale who was still sitting neatly on his black leather couch. He looked completely wrong on it. In fact, he looked completely wrong in the entire flat. The angel looked so bloody *kind*, sitting there in another triumphantly hideous checkered sweater and mismatching tan pants. He was giving Crowley a beatifically patient look. It all looked wrong against the backdrop of a demon's flat. And the fact that he found that look almost comforting seemed even more wrong to Crowley.

"You shouldn't be here, Aziraphale," Crowley muttered darkly through his sunglasses. 

The angel looked puzzled. "Why not?"

"Becausssse," hissed Crowley, rapidly losing his non-existent patience and focus. "I'm a demon and you're an angel. We're SUPPOSSED to be enemies. I'm supposed to be out there creating chaossss and you're supposed to stop me. Not bring me bloody sushi."

Aziraphale smiled slightly at the demon's hissing. "Have you done something I should be thwarting?" he asked, half-jokingly. 

"That's not my point!"

"Well, aren't we a little late in drawing lines now? You've admitted yourself it's all gone a bit hazy this evil and good idea," continued Aziraphale, picking up the sushi package. "But if you want to ruminate on it again, you might want to pop the lunch in the fridge." 

In a quick move, Crowley slapped Aziraphale's hands and sent the raw fish flying across his flat. It hit the window and sprayed his plants with lumps of tuna and rice. Startled by the action, the angel grew even more startled as the demon shouted, "For fuck's sake, you worthless prat! Don't you know when someone's trying to tell you to GET OUT?!"

"I...I was trying to be helpful..."

"And that's your problem!" ranted Crowley. He blinded himself to the hurt look that was rapidly forming on the angel's face. But he felt a perverse satisfaction at disturbing Aziraphale's usual peacefulness. "What kind of a angel helps a *demon*? You're supposed to hinder me! You're supposed to try and get rid of me! What kind of an idiot angel tries to be friends with a demon? Oh, no, wait, I forget I'm speaking to the same idiot angel who gave away his own sword," he scoffed. 

There was a long moment of silence wherein Aziraphale stood staring wordlessly at the infuriated demon. "Crowley...what's wrong? Why...why are you angry with me?" It was starting to get a bit more difficult for Crowley to ignore the hurt look in Aziraphale's eyes that was only highlighted by the quiet but obviously injured tone. 

"Leave me alone, Aziraphale," Crowley ordered in a quieter tone. "Stop fretting and worrying over me. Worry about your books, worry about some human souls but quit worrying about me. I'm not your concern and I'm not your business. I don't fucking owe you anything, especially if you're too stupid to realize you weren't *supposed* to bring a demon back to life. So take your angelic self, get out of my flat and leave. Me. Alone."

Crowley said the words distinctly and pointedly to Aziraphale's face and then concentrated on a spot past the angel's head as Aziraphale wordlessly gathered his coat and left. 

Outside of the demon's building, a black-clad young man with high reddish brown hair stood several feet away. While rain was now pouring down, it seemed to somehow be missing the young man all together. He was watching the building with his blood red eyes as the door opened and a rather dejected and confused looking blond man stepped out and began to walk away. Watching the retreating figure with some interest, the young man thoughtfully ran a tongue over his slick teeth. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Feedback and all please!


	6. Sneak

And here we go. Another part. I'll just throw them out as they come. But the next time I put up a part, I'll be a graduate. How scary!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lynch had always thought the angel Aziraphale would be a bit leaner. But there was no real accounting for taste when it came to heavenly creatures choosing their human forms. The demon peered through the world in his red-tinted sunglasses that did a good job of covering up the natural redness of his irises. While Lynch had gotten fairly adept at disguising his eyes, it was rather draining after awhile to keep imagining them. The glasses worked much better. 

Sitting casually on the edge of a building's ledge that would have given most people intense vertigo, Lynch observed the small bookshop he had followed the angel to yesterday. He had excellent vision and had watched from across the way as Aziraphale had gone in, made some tea, organized a few books, read a few books, and organized again. All in all, Lynch had found the experience unequivocally dull and uninformative. If anything, his observations only confused the demon. 

He mulled over some reasons as to why a demon like Crowley would have formed such a bizarre relationship to an angel. At first, Lynch had not believed it when a certain Lord of Darkness had given him the rundown. But the fact that Crowley was standing and moving, despite an attack by holy water could only mean there had been some divine intervention. The demon obviously had some sort of.....relationship with the angel Aziraphale. 

It all struck Lynch as incredibly strange but intriguing. Crowley either had an incredibly wicked plan up his sleeve as per usual in his relationship with the angel or.....

Lynch shook his head at the notion. No, surely Crowley wouldn't be consorting with an angel because he wanted to. That was ridiculous. He had to have an ulterior motive. Some sort of trick he was going to spring on the angel. 

*What? A trick he's kept up his sleeve for a few millennia? Must be one bloody complicated trick to take so long,* Lynch's logic pointed out. 

Frowning, the demon swung his right leg thoughtfully, hitting the heel of his black leather shoes against the side of the building. He was in all black again today but had opted for dark slacks and a black long-sleeved sweater that snuggly hugged his frame. He resembled a trendy, artist-type who probably looked rather suicidal sitting on the ledge of a building, swing his leg about. Around him, several pigeons cooed and flapped about.

He reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a silver mobile. It glimmered even under the cloudy conditions of London's light and looked like it could outrun a sports car. Flipping the phone open, Lynch turned it on and placed it next to him on the ledge without dialing. 

"WELL?"

"Well, you were right," said Lynch to the phone. "He was over at Crowley's flat. Left though. Looked a bit upset."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT HURT FEELINGS, LYNCH. WHAT WAS HE DOING THERE?"

"I don't know. I'm only recovering from the realization myself," said the demon, candidly. "Crowley must be planning something. They can't possibly be friends. The angel is duller than an airline knife."

"THE ENEMY HAS AN INVESTED INTEREST IN CROWLEY. IT MUST INVOLVE THE ANGEL."

"I'll need some more time," said Lynch. 

"LYNCH."

"I do. I've only had two days. That's nothing," stated the demon, stubbornly. "You give me a few more days. I'll figure it out," he promised. 

"YOU UNDERSTAND THAT SUCCESS ON YOUR PART IS REQUIRED, LYNCH."

"Of course, Lord."

"IF THAT SNAKE HAS BEEN CONSORTING WITH THE ANGEL WITHOUT GOOD REASON, YOU WILL NEED TO TAKE CARE OF IT."

Lynch smiled at the thought. "Of course, Lord. Maybe he's trying to get the angel to fall?" he suggested. 

"FIGURE IT OUT, LYNCH."

"And when I do, may I deal with it in any way I want?"

There was a pause. "KEEP IN MIND HASTUR'S FATE. DO NOT CROSS ANY LINES."

"Of course not," swore Lynch. The mobile remained silent. Folding his legs into a neat lotus position, the demon watched as a few more pigeons settled a few feet away from him on the ledge. Giving one a smile, he cooed assuring and held the bird very gently when it settled in his hands. Stroking the soft gray feathers with his long fingers, Lynch looked down at the angel's bookshop again. Giving Crowley another visit sounded like a much more productive move. But before he did that, he would have to go over the maps of the United Kingdom he had marked on where the most recent souls in hell had come from. He had the distinct feeling a pattern was showing up. 

Giving the passive pigeon a last stroke, Lynch settled it back on the ledge and swung his own legs around to go back down the building. As the demon strode off, the pigeon tilted its head to one side, confused. It suddenly couldn't remember how to fly. It flapped its wings in an anemic manner before it tumbled over the ledge and quickly became a crushed mass of feathers and bone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think I'm starting to have more fun writing Lynch than anyone else. Is that bad? It might be bad. In any case, you all know the requests for FB are here. And I'll say this: Lynch is going to get a lot nastier before....well....never mind. Heh. 


	7. Adding

Well, after several weeks of NOTHING, here's finally a new part. I apologize for it being so short but my recent graduation and having to keep regular working hours at a fast paced job has me too tired these days to actually write. But I'll try and crank out this story as the days go by.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It had been nearly a century and a half since he had shed his favorite form for more than ten minutes, but at the moment, Crowley felt the need for something more.....basic. Sitting slouched on the floor, the demon's wings brushed against the wall as he stared with naked yellow eyes into the darkness that was drowning the flat. Outside, the faint sounds of traffic and wayward dogs barking interrupted the evening air.  
  
Even in the blackness, Crowley could easily see himself in a mirror he had set up across the room. The pale whiteness of his skin glimmered slightly with each movement he made. At different angles, he could see the light hint of scales. He slowly blinked, watching the yellow eyes blink back at him. Despite the lack of horns and fangs, Crowley knew he looked rather demonic enough in his natural form.  
  
He tried to remember that. He was a demon. When had it all turned so confusing and maudlin for him? His best bet was the fact he was nearly eliminated a few weeks ago.  
  
Crowley knew he wasn't the type to be a hero by any means. If in a situation where it was either him or the other guy, the choice was relatively simple, if not pointless to even label it as a choice. But the demon also knew he wasn't much of a coward either. Very few things in the universe frightened Crowley. But something was now making him anxious continuously. As if he lived in a constant fear something was going to happen.  
  
Or perhaps it was a constant fear because something indeed had already happened.  
  
*If Aziraphale hadn't saved me, I wouldn't be in this trouble,* thought Crowley, eyeing his own image once again. His thoughts were followed by a strangely strong sense of resentment toward the angel. But somehow it didn't make much sense to Crowley since he also felt rather grateful to Aziraphale for saving him. It just didn't mix. And until he was able to figure a few things out, the demon firmly decided he'd keep himself away from the angel.  
  
+++++++++++++++  
  
Stuffing the half dissolved lollipop back in his mouth for safe keeping, Lynch used his now free hands to unfold the well used map and smoothed out its lines. He held it down with one hand as a breeze moved past the building's rooftop that he was currently occupying once again. The demon thoughtfully sucked on the candy, allowing the tart sour apple flavor to spread throughout his tongue as he studied all the markings he had made on the map. He narrowed his eyes as he consulted a small notepad that was opened and lying on his right side.  
  
There was *definitely* something strange going on.  
  
Staring at his map once more, Lynch couldn't ignore the fact that all of Hell's arrivals for the past several years came from the regions of Glasgow and Manchester. While strangely enough, very few had come from Shropshire and Edinburgh. Strangely, almost no one from those two regions seemed even remotely destined for a fiery end. It was very odd. But cleverly done, somehow. In fact, had Lynch not been operating at his full anal-retentive level, even he might not have noticed it. But sitting now and staring at all the red and blue dots he made to denote last living locations of souls that went to hell and heaven, respectively, it was plain as day.  
  
Lynch took a meditative lick of his lollipop.  
  
Strange. Very strange. It was as if Crowley had sectioned off certain parts to put all his attentions to while leaving other parts alone. It was a move that Lynch could not understand. Being evil was all about spreading chaos and bad will as far as one could. Why would the demon limit himself to these specific areas? And even so, the stranger part was the fact that the other regions seemed flourishing with brotherly goodness that always nauseated Lynch.  
  
While he hadn't been around humans as long as Crowley, he knew that the two- legged buggers were quite capable of being nasty on their own. He had read a memo Crowley sent down once detailing that. And unlike some small minded Prince of Hell, Lynch had read it and studied it from below to see if it was true. And it had been. Humans were naturally inclined to do the worst to one another. It's what made his and Crowley's job so bloody easy. So why was it that certain sections were full of unusually pleasant people?  
  
Lynch could only think of one book collecting angel.  
  
The demon shoved the lollipop back in his mouth and refolded his map. Picking up his notebook as well, he stuck the map between its sheets and gave the package a little shake. Immediately, they disappeared in a small puff of smoke. From the top of building, Lynch could easily see that Aziraphale was in his bookshop, despite the fact that all the lights were in the angel's attempts to make it look like the shop was closed.  
  
After a moment's thought, Lynch snapped the fingers of his right hand. Immediately, the dark shirt and slacks he had been wearing melted and arranged itself around his body until it re-solidified into a well-cut, black suit. Beneath the suit, Lynch sported a dark red shirt with an even darker red tie as a perfect set. Reaching up, he adjusted the knot of the tie and reached into the breast pocket of his suit to extract a pair of sleek, black shades. Without a mirror, Lynch knew he looked perfect.  
  
Giving the lollipop a last lick, the demon casually tossed it over his shoulder and began to make his way to the door that would lead him down a flight of stairs that would lead him to the street that would lead him to an old used bookshop. Lynch whistled lightly to himself as he made his way. Behind him, the lollipop sizzled slightly on the concrete floor. 


	8. Territory

Taking his time, Lynch side stepped a small puddle on street as he made his way toward the dark looking bookshop. Despite his sunglasses and lack of light coming from the store, Lynch could easily see the moving shape of Aziraphale far in the back. The angel was apparently drinking something out of a mug and reading a book. Lynch wasn't too surprised. Over the past few days, he had learned that that was pretty much ALL he ever did. With all this laying about on the part of Enemy, it made it all the more suspicious for Lynch just WHY so many souls were being lost to the other side. It didn't look like this angel put up much of a challenge for Crowley.  
  
Lynch waited on the street corner as a black cab sped by him. He neatly smoothed down his dark red tie that had been slightly disturbed by the wind and began to cross when a hand clamped down on his forearm. Normally, Lynch would have willed what he first thought was an unfortunate mugger into some nasty, horrible place. But he realized a second later that the owner of the hand was far from being a mugger.  
  
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"  
  
Lynch spread a grin on his face before turning around toward the black-clad Crowley. "Crowley. Pleasant surprise."  
  
The other demon did not look particularly pleased. And there was a momentary seriousness in his deep displeasure, which Lynch found very interesting. But before he could analyze it any further, the look vanished from Crowley's face. The demon was now merely frowning as he pushed Lynch back and away from the direction he had been going in.  
  
"Answer my question."  
  
"I'm paying a visit to the Enemy," said Lynch, accenting his words carefully. "I wanted to follow the common practice up here, after all," he added, slyly.  
  
Crowley kept his hand fastened to Lynch's arm, hoping his grip was at least messing up Lynch's suit. Behind his sunglasses, Crowley's eyes flared a sudden yellow. "The angel's my business. Stick with terrorizing little kids and the other things you're good at," ordered Crowley.  
  
"I am," insisted Lynch. "I'm very good at my job. The larger question is, are you?"  
  
"What does that mean?" demanded Crowley.  
  
"Shropshire and Edinburgh is what I mean," said Lynch, looking particularly smug. "You want me to show you the map I made? Of all the souls that seem to be going straight up from those areas instead of where they should be going?"  
  
Crowley removed his hand from Lynch's sleeve and the taller demon mentally smoothed out the wrinkles Crowley had caused. For his part, Crowley attempted to look more indifferent. "As endearing as your bright-eyed, bushy-tailed enthusiasm for the job is, Lynch," he said, snidely. "You're being a right prat."  
  
Lynch looked past Crowley's shoulder toward the window of the bookshop that now had a figure peering out of it. "Oh, I don't know," said Lynch, vaguely, staring at the figure. "I think I may get along quite nicely with him," he said and raised a hand to gesture a slight wave toward the angelic observer. Crowley roughly pulled the waving arm down and gave Lynch a murderous look. "After all," continued the taller demon with a wolf-like grin, "You two get along quite nicely, I think."  
  
"Keep out of things you know nothing about," warned Crowley.  
  
"Oh, I think I'm beginning to know more and more as time goes on," insisted Lynch. And it was true. As he looked at Crowley now and felt the pair of blue eyes burning a hole in his back, he began to formulate a theory that seemed to make more and more sense as seconds ticked by. "Surely you wouldn't mind a small visit to the angel's? Just to let him know he's got double the work cut out for him?" When Crowley didn't reply, Lynch felt a small moment of triumph that was only marred by the fact that he simultaneously lost the one and only hero figure he had ever had. "Unless, the Enemy never *did* have any real work cut out for him in the first place."  
  
Lynch removed his sunglasses as he continued to look at Crowley's tight expression. The two figures in black stared at each other for a beat. "You made a compromise," Lynch stated, sounding smug in his discovery and disgusted at its content. "All the while you could have been sending souls down to us in droves and you decided to take the easy road and make some deal with *him*. An *angel*." Lynch's words dripped with repulsion. He looked once more at Crowley who seemed to lower his head slightly. Lynch smirked almost audibly and began to move to go past him toward the shop when he felt Crowley put a restraining hand on his chest.  
  
Lynch was pushed back by a surprisingly inarguably strength from Crowley, who kept his head slightly down for a moment before raising his eyes to Lynch. There was a glow in Crowley's eyes, a very old one that spoke volumes of all the years the demon had existed. And all the maturity as a demon and creative mind toward torture he had acquired over the years. And then Crowley smiled, showing perfectly white teeth that were all slightly more sharpened than usual. The whole effect made Lynch uncomfortable, despite his new opinion of his former hero.  
  
"I've stopped the end of the world once, Toby. I've dealt with the Anti- Christ, a very pissed off Satan, a bucketful of holy water, two dukes from Hell and the disposal of one of them. All in a *week*." Crowley paused, keeping his gaze locked on Lynch who looked less smug than before. "Getting rid of *you* is something I can do before teatime."  
  
Lynch blinked slightly and managed to at least keep from looking slightly frightened. Which he cursed himself for feeling, slightly.  
  
"Stay away from him," Crowley ordered.  
  
"Or what?" asked Lynch, forcing his voice to stay strong. "You'll melt me down?" It didn't sound as good as it had in Lynch's head.  
  
Crowley only smiled. The kind of patronizing smile that adults usually gave unusually spoiled children. "Run along, now, Toby," said the demon. And seeing as that Lynch couldn't think of a clever answer back and Crowley stayed in his spot on the street, the taller demon shoved his sunglasses back on and walked away. 


	9. Worries

Aziraphale had let his hand drop to the doorknob and had been in the process of curling his fingers around the brass piece when he saw the other demon stalk away from Crowley.  
  
It had been a demon, of course. The tall, thin man in black that had matched Crowley. Standing on the street together, the two had been two hard to ignore black spots. The angel had been trying to lose himself in a newly acquired book from his collection when he had felt that familiar twinge. That indefinable tremble that always struck the servants of the Light whenever a creature of Darkness was near. Aziraphale had used that internal reaction often to track down Crowley in the past. It had first felt like an upset stomach to the angel for the first few thousand years. But as time had gone on, the feeling had changed almost entirely.  
  
The slight fluttering and flipping of his insides were still there. But since Aziraphale always knew that only meant Crowley, the angel usually followed up the feeling with an inner or sometimes outer smile. His angelic warning device had turned into a mere, pleasant indicator that his friend was approaching.  
  
But while Aziraphale had been poring over his book, the feeling of an upset stomach had come to him again. Just as it had the first few thousand years. And a quick look out his window let Aziraphale know why. A new demon had arrived.  
  
For one terrible moment, the angel thought Crowley had been replaced. The idea had struck Aziraphale with a slight blind panic. He had experienced the feeling once before with the demon's near brush with non-existence at the mercy of holy water. But just as quickly as the fear arrived, it was voided by the arrival of Crowley. Seeing his  
  
familiar black-clad counterpart appear, Aziraphale remembered to start breathing again.  
  
The quick relief soon melted into mildly concerned curiosity as he watched Crowley and the other demon speak to one another. The conversation did not look friendly. At one point, he saw the other demon raise a hand toward him as a greeting. Keeping his back toward him, Crowley quickly pushed the raised arm of the other demon down.  
  
Aziraphale frowned slightly at the agitated posture Crowley was holding. He relaxed his grip on the doorknob as it became quite apparent to him that whatever was going on, Crowley would not appreciate him opening the door and coming to join the conversation.  
  
Instead, the angel concentrated in studying the other demon.  
  
He was a shade taller than Crowley, dressed in a perfectly cut suit and tie. His reddish brown hair sat perfectly sculpted on his head, brushed away from his high forehead. Even from his distance, Aziraphale had noticed the hand that had waved in his direction was  
  
well-manicured. But despite the rather pleasing appearance of the new arrival, Aziraphale felt slightly more at ease watching him walk away at whatever Crowley had said to him. With the other demon's departure, Aziraphale felt his upset stomach slowly disappear. His eyes fell back on Crowley who still had his back to him. The agitated posture remained.  
  
++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Watching Lynch walk away, Crowley felt a sudden need to make a list. A very long list on just how many problems he had growing around him. And how the fact that Lynch knew about his arrangement with Aziraphale ranked number one on the Things To Worry About List.  
  
Aziraphale.  
  
He would have to put the angel on the list as well as Problem Number 2. Because Aziraphale in of himself was a problem, Crowley knew. A very large, holy, angelic, complicated problem that the demon knew was currenly boring a hole into his back. As time ticked on, the demon realized that he had come to stop Lynch from seeing Aziraphale, not out of fear that Lynch would find out about the Arrangement. That  
  
hadn't been the problem.  
  
Grinding a heel on the ground, Crowley turned around and faced Aziraphale who continued to stare at him from his window. No, he had stopped Lynch because he hadn't wanted Aziraphale to deal with Lynch. Despite being new to his position, Lynch was not to be ignored. He wasn't a Ligur or even a Hastur. No, this one was dangerous. This one  
  
could be damaging. And staring at Aziraphale now, who was peering at him with endearingly concerned blue eyes, Crowley knew he had come to make sure nothing would happen to the angel.  
  
*Oh....shit.*  
  
Crowley would have said it outloud but he was somewhat concerned Aziraphale would hear him now that the angel was opening the door. The demon noticed the horrifyingly peach and tan knit colored sweater the angel was wearing. It looked strangely perfect to him.  
  
*Oh....SHIT.*  
  
"Crowley?"  
  
*Shit.* 


	10. Rage

S'more.... ~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Strange things were happening. Instances, that had they been a little less severe, someone might have calmly noticed were occurring at an alarming rate around a gruffly stalking figure in black. There was a shrill cry mingled with traffic sounds as a young boy on a bike crashed into an oncoming car. The helmet he had been wearing saved his head but it did little to help his leg, which was now bent the wrong way with a bone sticking out of his flesh. The traffic light had turned green on both sides at the same time.  
  
Lynch continued to walk.  
  
A young woman began to scream as a man's German Shepard moved from curiously sniffing her hands to sinking its teeth into her palms, refusing to let go. Blood began to ooze from between the dog's sharp fangs as he kept his death grip on the poor woman who was wailing and tugging uselessly as the owner tried to call his usually calm dog off of her.  
  
Lynch avoided stepping in the forming puddle of blood with his leather boots.  
  
As he finished crossing a street, the loud rush of horns and sounds of metal hitting metal filled the London air. Aiming for his current residence building, the demon did a short mental count and was pleased to note that there had been several toddlers caught in the maze of tangled cars. It made him feel a bit better. A bit.  
  
He approached the small hotel he was currently renting out a room in. To be specific, Lynch wasn't exactly renting out a room as he was not paying any rent. In fact, the owner of the hotel had seen Lynch several times but was made quickly to forget. It had been the demon's suggestion that the hotel owner not rent out room 6 at the moment that allowed Lynch to reside there without any problems. Whenever the hotel owner considered the vacant room, he got a bad feeling. It was best he not even dwell on the room's existence. At least, for a little while.  
  
Walking angrily into his room, the demon stopped dead in his tracks, fuming at his own weakness and backing down against Crowley. As his anger rose, the sunglasses that had been perched on his face melted and slid out of existence. In their absence, a pair of bright blood red eyes were now visibly, glowing in the slightly darkened room. They gleamed with a malicious hatred as he continued to think on what happened.  
  
A few floors below, spiders crawled out of the heating vents of several rooms.  
  
*That bloody snake. Traitor, disgusting!* sputtered Lynch's thoughts. *Who does he think he is, telling me what to do? Consorting and making deals with the Enemy! Repulsive little maggot!*  
  
A woman who had turned on the tap to brush her teeth several rooms over shrieked in horror as a line of pale wriggling grubs came out of the faucet.  
  
*Who the fuck does he think he is to challenge me?! WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS!!??*  
  
Several guests of the modest hotel who were taking showers jumped out of the stall in horror as cockroaches burst up from the drain in masses.  
  
At the last burst of anger, Lynch finally began to feel his rage subside. The once burning glow in his eyes lessened to a dull shine, although they still looked very red in comparison to the near brown shade they usually had. The demon stepped toward the bed on the far left side of the room and sat down. He ordered himself to think. He would have to try and maintain a level head and think if he was to succeed in his new objective.  
  
That specifically being to get rid of Crowley. The other demon had challenged him, ridiculing him. It would have to be answered for. And besides....an empty spot up on Earth could work very well for Lynch. He had taken over for Hastur and Ligur but getting full reign sounded better. Much better.  
  
But to get rid of Crowley.....that would be a complicated task. Despite his earlier outbursts of thoughts, Lynch knew the serpent could be clever and resourceful. Ligur and Hastur had underestimated him and the results of that spoke for themselves. Lynch didn't get to where he was by being so naive. No, he'd need more information. He would have to find a weakness.  
  
He'd have to find the perfect weakness..... 


	11. Unspoken

Right, here's another following the last one pretty quickly. This is b/c chapters 10&11 should have gone together but I'd gotten lazy and didn't finish this one until now.  
  
Thought I'd sneak in this little warning....  
  
THIS STORY WILL END ON A BIT OF A CLIFFHANGER.  
  
Just FYI....  
  
Anyway, here's the next part ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sitting in Aziraphale's back room, Crowley hunched over in his seat, his arms resting on his knees as he leaned forward. Almost eye-level with the small table in front of him, his vision of the empty chair across from him was interrupted by the arrival of a large mug that was plunked in front of him. It smelled suspiciously like hot chocolate. Crowley continued to stare at the steaming liquid. He heard Aziraphale sigh slightly.  
  
"What?" asked the demon, not taking his eyes off the mug.  
  
"It'll taste just as good without any alcohol, you know."  
  
"Bollocks."  
  
"It will," insisted the angel. "The trick is using milk instead of just hot water."  
  
Aziraphale sounded so pleased about that trade secret that Crowley found himself stopping the cocoa from reaching an alcoholic level where a proof rating would be needed. Crowley wasn't a very big fan of hot chocolate. In fact, he wasn't a fan of chocolate in general. The sweetness of it didn't agree with him and he usually could only nibble at dark chocolate without grimacing. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had an incredible sweet tooth.  
  
"So, he's Hastur and Ligur's replacement?" inquired Aziraphale.  
  
"His name is Lynch and yes. He's the replacement for the former Dynamic Duo," said Crowley, gloomily. Seeing the angel drink his mug with a contented air, the demon lifted his and took a tentative sip. He politely held back a face. It didn't pass by Crowley's notice that for some reason he didn't just let loose on the angel how he could possibly ingest something so sickly sweet. Instead, he kept quiet and even took another sip and forced himself to swallow it.  
  
"You look upset," the angel said, a shade tentatively. Not that Crowley could blame him. The last time they had spoken, rice and raw fish had gone flying everywhere at the demon's outburst. Aziraphale obviously had not forgotten and was treading carefully.  
  
"Not upset," Crowley corrected, absently.  
  
"Oh."  
  
The halting conversation began to work on both of them. For his part, the demon wanted to throw himself down at the angel's feet and bemoan just how horrible everything seemed to have become of late. He wanted to explain why he thought Lynch was the most dangerous thing to come on this planet since the Anti-Christ, how he was suddenly experiencing moments of panic about every little thing and he didn't know why, how he felt like nothing was worth anything anymore, not even bothering the humans, and how he just wanted to lie down and take a long rest. But mostly how he wanted Aziraphale to just DO something and make all of this....mess go away.  
  
Instead, he just stared at the angel.  
  
That unforgivably grotesque pullover the angel was wearing looked strangely comforting. Crowley almost smiled. No matter how chaotic the world got or how much it changed, he felt he could always count on the angel picking out the worst clothes England had to offer. And at the moment, such an assurance was appreciated.  
  
"Crowley? Are you alright?" asked Aziraphale.  
  
Breaking from his meditation on how much he wanted to pat the fuzzy pullover, Crowley blinked. Was he alright? No...actually....no. He wanted to explain why he thought Lynch was....he stopped himself from going down that road again. He'd have to do something else. For the sake of the angel, he'd have to do something else. He had seen the look in Lynch's eyes before the demon had stalked off. It signaled trouble and the further the trouble would be away from Aziraphale the better.  
  
"Aziraphale," he began slowly. "I've got a couple of important things to tell you so....best you get ready."  
  
The angel looked visibly surprised by the seriousness of the demon's tone and sat a little straighter. The blue eyes were focused on Crowley with full attention, naked in their concern.  
  
"First, I'm sorry for earlier," Crowley apologized. "The sushi thing. I didn't mean what I said back then. I was just....it wasn't right."  
  
The look of shock that crossed Azirphale's face was soon replaced with a rather touched expression. Crowley never apologized. He didn't believe in apologies as he felt they were for cowards and prats. So it was a miracle he had uttered one, even more that he actually meant it.  
  
"Second, I'm going to go away for a little while." As he spoke, a plan began to slowly form in Crowley's mind.  
  
"Go away?"  
  
"Yeah, just for a bit. But...yeah."  
  
"Why?" Aziraphale asked, softly. "Does it have to do with Lynch?"  
  
Crowley made a mental note never to believe Aziraphale couldn't be remarkably alert. "It's...just to be on the safe side. Lynch isn't....he'll figure all of this out," Crowley waved a hand. "And there'll be problems."  
  
Aziraphale's lips pursed slightly as it did when he was thinking. "I would think," he speculated. "That both of our respective teams already know about us being friends."  
  
Friends. The term threw Crowley a little. "No, see, it's not that simple...at least not in Hell. There's no such THING as friends down there, angel. The concept just isn't known."  
  
"Then why worry? If we're not friends then they're probably guessing you're doing all of this with some sort of alternate, demonic plan."  
  
"Maybe....but then there's Lynch," said Crowley, darkly.  
  
"Why are you so worried? He's a new arrival as you said," Aziraphale pointed out. "How much trouble can he cause?"  
  
"Lots. I've got a feeling."  
  
"A feeling?"  
  
"Call it a bloody hunch, whatever!" snapped the demon. "The point is! The point is, I'd rather he not be attempting to make contact with you. I'll handle it."  
  
"I could help."  
  
"I said I'd handle it!"  
  
"My dear, I'm not helpless. I DO know how to deal with unwanted persons."  
  
"Aziraphale, it's not really anything you need to get involved in. It's MY problem," Crowley insisted, despite a small voice screaming in his mind to just thank Aziraphale profusely for the offer and accept. It got drowned out by the other voice that told him to keep the angel out of harm's way. It was curiously the same one that continued to urge Crowley to pat Aziraphale's sweater.  
  
The angel looked disconcerted. Almost irritated, if that was possible. "Crowley, I want to help you. If you think Lynch is dangerous wouldn't it be better if we thought this through together?" The demon remained silent. "We're friends. Friends help each other. You DID say we were friends that one time in Wisconsin," pressed the angel.  
  
Raising his gaze to the angel, Crowley slowly shook his head. "No, I said you were the Enemy," he corrected.  
  
Aziraphale blinked. "But you meant-"  
  
"What I did say," interrupted Crowley. "Was that I'd never hurt you, remember that?" Silently, the angel nodded his head. "And I intend to keep that promise." And he did. Which would mean he would leave for now. To keep Lynch away from Aziraphale and in some part to keep himself away from Aziraphale.  
  
Because if he was right in what he was beginning to realize, they were both in very big trouble. 


	12. Information

Right, here's a little more on this. I dedicate this post to writers  
  
like China Mieville whose ability to come up with some DISTURBING  
  
images inspired this.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It bothered Lynch slightly that he had barely been on Upside and already he felt odd at shedding his new human form to visit the Grounds Below. His true shape somehow didn't feel quite right. It was on par with the feeling one got when he visits his old house and see how the new residents had changed it all around until it no longer even looked like the house he remembered. Lynch's real form was exactly as how he had left it. And yet, it didn't feel quite as comfortable. He missed his human form and hoped to complete his task quickly so he could return.  
  
As the demon walked through Hell's familiar walkways, several other beings greeted him with either a hiss or the odd claw/hoof/snaggling teeth to the face. With an irritated air of one who was in a hurry, Lynch averted all of them and sped up his pace. As he approached his destination, the number of surrounding demons tapered off until Lynch  
  
found himself to be the only demon around.  
  
The only whole demon to be more exact.  
  
While there was a cacophony of wails and shrieks to begin with, Lynch heard another one add itself to the miserable mix as he pressed his foot in the wrong place. With a grimace, Lynch pulled back his leg and examined the sole of his foot. The face he had accidentally  
  
stepped on glared up at him with its one good eye that was still in its socket. The other eye was now smashed into the hole in its head while a small bit of it stuck to Lynch's foot. The demon shook his leg, attempting to dislodge the small piece of eye lingering on his toes.  
  
Lynch hated the Dump. As did most demons, those who were banished to it and those who just knew of its existence on the far edges of Hell. For a time, the Dump had grown in its size as many demons had been broken apart and banished there by Satan as punishment for some misconduct. But as the number of punishments grew, demons began to see the horror that was the Dump and soon began to behave. It was now rare that a demon would commit an act so heinous that they would end up there.  
  
But there had been a new arrival awhile back.  
  
Varying arms, hooves, and claws raked the air as Lynch climbed over the amputated stumps that were somehow seared into the floors and walls of the Dump. Lynch wondered what it would be like to be smashed into pieces like that and sautered onto the walls. He imagined it wasn't terribly pleasant, judging by the mournful wails coming from the various heads and faces smashed into the walls, unable to move or  
  
escape.  
  
While the demon had considered asking for some directions, he decided against it. It would take him longer to locate who he needed but he wasn't in the mood to interact with other victims of the Dump if he could help it. After a frustrating search wherein Lynch managed to dislodge a few more eyeballs from faces unfortunately plastered onto  
  
teh floor, he located the one head he needed.  
  
"Duke Hastur...good to see you again," greeted Lynch. "At least see a bit of you."  
  
Hastur's head was fused at an angle so that the chin stuck skyward slightly. His eyes rolled, trying to locate the source of the voice. Kicking and stamping a few wayward arm stumps out of the way, Lynch crouched down as low as he dared by the former whole demon. Getting the other demon into his line of vision, Hastur growled. Lynch smiled. "Now, now, put on a happy face."  
  
"Fuck off," croaked the former Duke of Hell, making up for his weak voice with pure hostility.  
  
"That's no way to talk to your successor," tisked Lynch.  
  
The small eyes squinted further as it regarded the upside down image of Lynch. "What the fuck do you want, Lae-"  
  
"I go by Lynch, now," corrected the demon.  
  
A smirk appeared on Hastur's distorted face. "The fuck do you want, Lynch?" Hastur's utterance of Lynch's name was the verbal equivalent of a person's reaction to finding some dog excrement on his shoe.  
  
"I need some information from you, Mr. H," stated Lynch with an airy cheer that he put on for the sole purpose of irritating Hastur a little bit more. In most cases he would have attempted some amount of politeness. But Lynch knew Hastur's history with Crowley to some extent. He also knew the pure hate and desire for revenge the former Duke of Hell, who had been banished to the Dump for his unlicensed assassination attempt on Crowley, would fuel him to give him some information.  
  
Batting away a wildly gesticulating blind leg, Lynch leaned a little closer to Hastur. "I've got an early holiday gift for you," he said quietly with a grin. "How'd you like to help me liquify your favorite demon?" A look of confusion mingled into Hastur's hostile expression. "Crowley, Duke Hastur, Crowley," clarified Lynch.  
  
"That bloody little SNAKE! It's his damn fault I'm here in this wasteland of demon body parts!" screamed Hastur. At the extra volume, neighboring appendages gestured more wildly.  
  
"I know all about what happened with you and Crowley...and how you ended up here while he got a get out of jail free card."  
  
Hastur looked confused again and Lynch regretted using the Monopoly analogy. Obviously, his predecessors hadn't been as aware of earth. Shaking off the comparison, Lynch pressed on. "I need you to help me. I need information about Crowley. Mainly, I need to find a weakness. Something I could use against him."  
  
Hastur snorted. "Little bleeder couldn't fend off a left hook if his life de-"  
  
"No, no, no," interrupted Lynch. "I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about a weakness. A vulnerable spot that I could use against him."  
  
"He's a demon. You could punch him all you want-"  
  
"NO." Lynch rubbed his forehead and considered how to explain this. "Look, I need to know if there's something Crowley likes. Something I could use to lure him with or bargain with should I get my hands on it. Something he would....care about."  
  
Hastur seemed to give it some thought. His eyes rolled away from Lynch and back to him. "That wagon of his. That car."  
  
Lynch rolled his eyes. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea.  
  
"And then there's the Angel."  
  
"Wait, go back please?"  
  
"His counterpart."  
  
"Yes, I know they've made contact," said Lynch, irritably. This was all old information. "I know Crowley's worked out some bargain with the angel Aziraphale."  
  
Hastur would have shook his head had it not been a part of the floor. "Ever wonder how the snake came back into existence?"  
  
Lynch frowned. "I thought Lucifer turned back-"  
  
The other demon gave a slight grin, realizing at long last how he did indeed have the perfect information for Lynch. "Someone had to petition for the snake's revival."  
  
Lynch kicked away a hand and sat down on the back of a demon's head, squashing his face into the ground. He would have to get comfortable for this. "Go on," he ordered to Hastur's head. 


	13. Writer's Note

BIG WRITER'S NOTE: Hello to all the new readers and any old readers who have bravely stuck around.  
  
I know it's the year 2003 and this story hasn't seen an update in.well, in several many months. I'm writing to say that YES, this story has an ending and YES, it will get an update soon. I haven't forgotten it and I'm finally getting a little more free time to write it.  
  
So, buck up, chin up and stay tuned.  
  
--Joon  
  
PS: To all you old readers out there who are still around: GOD BLESS YOU ALL! Or.the opposite of that if that's your preference. 


	14. Contact

Okay, so..last we saw, Crowley was planning on taking a hike to keep Lynch away from his dear angel. Lynch was planning some god awful revenge on Crowley and had gone to visit the now dismembered Hastur in The Dump to get some information. And Aziraphale was just.well, he was just plain confused.  
  
Well, on with the much delayed show. We'll start back with Lynch..  
  
If Lynch had a true stomach or even such a thing as a gag reflex, he would have been coming very well acquainted with both of them about an hour ago. The demon realized with some irony that there was a place that even the residents of Hell would find even more hellish. But, he swallowed his repulsion and soldiered on, reminding himself that he didn't get his post on Earth by letting a little discomfort bother him. He had work to do.  
  
"So, is that with two r's or one?" he questioned.  
  
"I don't remember."  
  
Lynch mentally sighed. Normally he would have enjoyed this, but he didn't have that much time and wasn't too keen on spending the little he had up to his knees in demon body parts. He dug his nail in a little deeper into the soft, jelly-like orb. The formerly whole demon, whose name Lynch had already forgotten, screamed at the near loss of his remaining, usable eye.  
  
"Two or one?" he asked again.  
  
"One! One!" shrieked the demon.  
  
"Now, you sure that's all? I don't need to get any eye of newt or anything nonsense like that?" he jeered.  
  
"If you don't believe me, you shouldn't bother," retorted the demon. The strong words were stripped of any dignity, having been said by a face half- fused into the floor with a barely intact eye.  
  
"Oh, no, I do believe," said Lynch, in an almost friendly tone. "Otherwise, I wouldn't think you'd be here having tried it once."  
  
He stood up from his crouch, idly picking off a bit of eye that was caught under his fingernail. "Thanks for the tip. If it doesn't work, I'll try and remember the pepper the next time I'm back," he said, lightly.  
  
"Hope he catches you and scatters you here!" cried the much bullied demon, mournfully.  
  
Lynch smirked, already enjoying the idea of being topside. "Right," he said before slamming his foot down on the demon's rolling eye.  
  
+++++++++++++  
  
Angels could not be killed  
  
Lynch felt this was incredibly unfair. In all the research he had done, the demon had always come to the same conclusion, over and over: angels could not be killed. It certainly gave them the advantage since there were at least a couple of ways a demon could be killed.  
  
Still, like most obstacles, Lynch preferred to believe that small, physical weakness on the part of demons would force them to be cleverer. He also believed this kind of infallibility made the Enemy more careless and prone to being lulled into the idea of safety. There was nothing on heaven or earth or hell that could kill an angel. So, why shouldn't they feel secure?  
  
Breathing in the night air, Lynch estimated at least two more hours before the sun would be making its round across the skies. He stared up at the blackness above him and recalled a story he had once been told when he had once sported a halo. The story of when earth was first starting to form and of the first angel who had felt too much.  
  
Angels by nature were very sensitive creatures. Incredibly sensitive and had gotten more so as humans began to roam the earth. There had been many who grew too sensitive and empathetic to justify some of the cruelty thrust upon the race. One particular Grigori came to mind and Lynch chuckled at the idiocy of THAT situation.  
  
Sometimes, angels were too sensitive for their own good.  
  
After his short time on earth, Lynch came to the conclusion that he liked humans. They were an inherently nasty, masochistic type of creatures. Most of them were glad to sin, so much so that Lynch often wondered why they even bothered with this battle for the souls. It was pretty obvious what humans preferred, no contest. It was just because of this stupid, ridiculous war that Satan insisted on carrying out..  
  
The demon flicked a cigarette into existence, already lit between his lips and watched the smoke curl into the air. Sometimes, he really thought Lucifer was really..outdated.  
  
But, the Almighty Prince of Hell could do whatever he liked. Lynch had his own agenda now. He got his mind back to the neverending sympathies angels seemed to hold for humans, despite the fact it was obvious humans liked sinning, liked being punished. Some angels seemed to take human suffering so.personally.  
  
Lynch took a long drag and breathed the smoke back out into the London air.  
  
So what if angels couldn't die? There were far worse things than death.  
  
+++++++++++++++  
  
It was nine in the morning and uncharacteristically, Aziraphale opened his bookshop.  
  
The shops across the street who had often seen the angel reluctantly open the door and flip over the closed sign around 1pm or even 4pm halted in their morning routine to star at the bookshop in paralyzing surprise.  
  
Ignoring the stares, the angel flipped the sign over and went behind his counter to sit. He wanted to keep his mind busy today and dealing with buyers and potential corporate construction lackeys seemed the best solution. There were about a hundred and fifty different worries and concerns in Aziraphale's head, a hundred and forty-nine of them involving Crowley. And while the angel had argued as best he could, he was no match for the demon who had strong-armed the angel to promising he would leave the matter of Lynch to him.  
  
Having given his word, Aziraphale knew he couldn't break it and had to resign himself to just waiting around until Crowley got back in touch with him. The wait would be agony.  
  
The angel had taken his morning tea and book to the counter when that feeling spread throughout this stomach again. He didn't make a mistake this time and lifted up his head from his pages, fully knowing who would be by his door when he looked to it.  
  
He wouldn't be breaking his promise to Crowley. After all, Lynch came here.  
  
The demon wore an entire blanket of smugness. The way his hair was piled on his head to the straight cuts of his black suit, Lynch exuded smugness and incredible self-assurance. Aziraphale stared at the new arrival, whose completely black outfit, save for the blood red tie that matched his eyes especially demonic. The angel, who had gotten rather used to Crowley being the only demon he got in contact with, felt slightly taken aback at how unattractively evil a demon could be.  
  
Lynch's eyes looked him over once. The demon smiled. "Huh.I thought you'd be a little taller."  
  
At that cliché, Aziraphale relaxed a little. Lynch might be cleverer than Hastur or Ligur, but he was still just a demon. "Is there something you wanted, Lynch?" inquired in his best polite voice.  
  
"Oh, just a chat," said Lynch, walking closer to where the angel sat. "Get acquainted, things like that," he said, his voice sounding rather condescending.  
  
Aziraphale's face remained stony. "I rather think not."  
  
"Oh, now my feelings are hurt," said Lynch. "Would it be better if I changed?" he asked. The demon snapped his well-manicured fingers and his body shifted and dissolved momentarily before reshaping again before the angel. "How's this?" he asked.  
  
Aziraphale did feel a small jolt at the sudden new appearance. Lynch's hair was now black, his skin paler, and while the suit was still the same, the fabric was a little more worn in. A pair of sunglasses peeked out from the breast pocket. The newly yellowed eyes stared back at him, practically drowning in smugness.  
  
"You have his eyes all wrong," stated the angel, noticing Lynch's version of Crowley's eyes were a shade lighter than what they really were. Normally, he might have sounded almost apologetic at pointing out a mistake, but Aziraphale felt far from friendly or considerate of Lynch's feelings.  
  
"Details, details," said Lynch in his Crowley voice. "I thought you might like to ssssssssee a friendly face," he hissed, affectedly.  
  
The angel frowned inwardly, realizing how much he already missed Crowley. It hadn't even been a proper day and already he was wondering where the demon was or when he'd be back. And while Lynch's façade made him think of Crowley, it certainly did not get him feeling any more kindly toward the newly arrived demon.  
  
"If you're finished with your parlor tricks," said Aziraphale. "I'll ask you to please leave my bookshop."  
  
The Crowley image melted away until it was Lynch again, looking back at the angel, the smile still the same. "Oh, that's nothing," he said, his voice now cheerfully bright. "Just a small thing I picked up in the Dump. I've got one better." Lynch grinned, baring all of his teeth. "Now, for my next trick."  
  
Three sharp words were uttered from the demon's mouth. And then, the world seemed to explode before Aziraphale's eyes. 


	15. Gear

Okay, only two more chapters after this one. Can you believe it took me THIS long to finish this story and it only had three more chapters?  
  
Anyway, here it is.  
  
********  
In the past, Crowley had often prided himself in believing he was an impulsive creature, who gave little thought to the future and moved forward with a flippant, carefree attitude, consequences be damned.  
  
Now, he had to admit he was probably just a very poor planner.  
  
The demon had spent the past day and a half getting incredibly drunk after his conversation with Aziraphale. He had intended to leave immediately after speaking with the angel, but realized he didn't really know where he could go where Lynch couldn't easily find him. He had decided to have a drink and ponder that question.  
  
That one drink had multiplied into 10 drinks and doubled themselves again into 3 and a half bottles. By the end of the night, Crowley wasn't fit to leave his current position on his couch, let alone leave London. Staring up at the ceiling of his apartment with bleary eyes, the demon slowly began to sober himself. If the process went too quickly, it tended to shake him up a little. And at this point, anything as harsh as a jostle could potentially cause some severe discomfort.  
  
He had gotten his alcohol level down to about half of its original strength when his phone rang.  
  
"Aziraphale, you prat." he muttered, resolutely ignoring the ringing. He continued to stare up at what looked like a small paint chip in his ceiling as he drained more alcohol away. The phone rang a few more times before ceasing.  
  
The demon experimentally tilted his head slightly and found his vision didn't tilt and swirl as it had earlier and figured in a few minutes he would be well enough to venture rising from his couch.  
  
"AAAAAnthonyyyyy!"  
  
"Augh!"  
  
Rubbing his forehead where he had smacked it on his coffee table as he fell off the couch, Crowley snapped his head toward his television set where the voice had come from and tried to ignore the protest his neck made. He started when the blood red eyes of Lynch stared back at him, a grin on the other demon's face.  
  
"I tried calling you. Under the weather, are we?" he asked.  
  
Crowley blinked, his initial shock fading into confusion. "What? How..how are you doing that?" he demanded. As far as he knew, no one other than Lucifer had the power to use electronics like that.  
  
For his part, Lynch looked extraordinarily pleased. "Just a trick I picked up."  
  
"Picked up where?"  
  
"Oh, I can tell you and we could have a nice chat over a drink, but I rather do think the angel would not appreciate it," said Lynch.  
  
Crowley stared at Lynch's face that filled his entire screen. "What are you talking about? What did you do?" he demanded.  
  
"You really DO care, don't you?" smirked Lynch. "Hastur was right." The leering smile on the demon's face soon mixed with an expression of disgust. "You really actually *like* that halo wearing angel," he said, spitting out the last word like it was tripe having gone off.  
  
"Leave him alone," Crowley ordered. "If you have anything to discuss, you do it with me and-"  
  
"I suppose I COULD leave him alone," interrupted Lynch. "Leave him alone to wallow in his own misery forever and ever and ever. I could do that."  
  
At the soft, near whisper of Lynch's words, Crowley suddenly felt cold. "Lynch, what did you do?"  
  
"Nothing that I can't make worse," replied the other demon, all traces of fake friendliness gone. The lupine-like face was now serious. "I'd advise you to get yourself down to the Enemy's bookshop if you wish to salvage whatever is left of his mind."  
  
"You're lying," Crowley tried, weakly.  
  
"You want to risk it?"  
  
Crowley's eyes narrowed. Had this been 5000 years ago, he would have laughed in Lynch's face and would have asked him to send a wing to him as a souvenir. But now.He hated the fact Lynch's words hit home. But they did. Seeing the look in Crowley's eyes, Lynch bared his teeth in his usual smile. "I'll see you then."  
  
++++++++  
  
"You know, it's always such a disappointment to meet your heroes face to face," mused Lynch. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a pair of thick, chemical gloves and eased them over his long fingers. "No matter how much you tell yourself they couldn't possibly be as great as you build them up to be, a small part of you hopes and you're always setting yourself up for a letdown. You know what I mean?" he inquired, looking over the top of Aziraphale's counter.  
  
Behind it, Aziraphale lay in a curled heap, seemingly paralyzed save for a few jerking movements. The blue eyes remained wide open, staring out into nothing, though Lynch was pretty sure the angel was certainly seeing something.or at least feeling something. A pair of thin, gold rimmed glasses lay broken near the angel's head.  
  
+++++++++  
  
"Move, you clown!" shouted Crowley, slamming the heel of his hand on the horn. Not giving the car in front of him a chance, the demon swerved up onto the sidewalk instead and sped down the street, keeping his hand on the horn to give ample warning to any stray pedestrians.  
  
He rounded a corner one block away from the small, easy-to-miss street that Aziraphale's bookshop was on. After narrowly missing an old lady with a shopping bag, the demon halted the Bentley in front of an iron gate. Beyond its rather short black bars stood a modest, anemic looking church.  
  
Not getting out, he punched the Bentley's horn again. The doors of the church remained closed. Crowley looked at his watch.  
  
"Half past three. You lazy loafers, get out here!" he shouted, continuously honking the horn. The doors remained closed. "Good is always vigilant, my arse! Open up, you bastards!" The wooden gates remained shut.  
  
+++++++++  
  
"It was very much the same thing with the Big Bloke upstairs." Lynch, materializing a small spray bottle onto the counter. "There was so much build up and then, there he was and what could I say? I wasn't that impressed. I mean, when you take away the whole ineffable, omnipotent mystique what have y'got left?  
  
There was only a slight strangled cry in response.  
  
Looking down at the barely moving figure, Lynch unscrewed the top of the spray bottle. "I could never understand how you all could bow and scrape toward Him. It's really quite a demeaning existence. Especially since you get fuck all in return. He made you these incredibly, SENSITIVE creatures and what for? I dunno." Lynch prattled on. "I'm guessing you're up to the early stages of the Crusades now, right? I rather envy you, getting a chance to experience all that pain and human suffering. 'Course, it's probably murder for you, but I always loved a good blood parade in the name of the Big Guy."  
  
"Bet you never knew how much agony humans go through, eh?" smiled Lynch. "Well, actually, you probably did, but getting it all at you in one large dose must give you a refreshingly different perspective." Making sure the gloves were tightly secured, the demon took up the spray bottle. "Now, if I were a container of holy water, where would I be?" 


	16. Battle

Uncharacteristically, the Bentley went at a crawl as it turned onto the street where Azirphale's bookshop was located. The day was unusually sunny for London, something that Crowley would have normally taken as a bad sign. But at the moment, his mind was slightly too preoccupied. The windows of the bookshop were dark, the sign flipped over to "Closed." None of these were odd occurrence, but Crowley could be sure Aziraphale hadn't voluntarily closed his shop this early.  
  
There was a dull ache over the demon's chest, bringing back some not-so fond memories of the last time he had felt any kind of true physical pain. Memories soon faded into some realizations as the demon stopped the Bentley in front of the bookshop.  
  
He knew that over the years Aziraphale had made it less and less of a practice to perform the daily rituals the angel used to when he first came to Earth. Hymns and the traditional prayers and song that angels normally performed ate up too much of Aziraphale's time. Those had been the days that Crowley had found incredibly easy to snag a few souls, unchallenged as the angel was too busy going through all the verses of the day's hymn. But old habits died hard and the demon knew that his counterpart still kept most of the materials needed for such practices.  
  
Crosses, bibles, but above all, holy water.  
  
Forcing his body to move forward, Crowley exited the Bentley and stepped onto the pavement. Lynch could very well have armed himself with holy water, although that would be rather risky on the other demon's part. But if there was one thing Crowley wasn't going to do now, it was to underestimate Lynch. No, he had to overestimate every little thing.  
  
Nearing the shop, Crowley noticed that the door was slightly ajar. The demon could feel a familiar pounding in his head, as memories of the last dangerous door he had approached and what had been waiting for him behind that.  
  
*If I make it through this alive, my next order of business is going to be to get rid of all the fucking doors on this planet.*  
  
Walking up the last few steps, the demon put a hand to the door and cautiously pushed it open, still standing half outside. There was a scraping sound from above the door and before he had a chance to snatch back his hand, a metal bucket fell down hard on his arm, splashing all of its watery contents onto the black sleeve.  
  
For one horrified moment, Crowley nearly fell backwards in a blind panic at what he thought had just been thrown all over his arm. He anticipated the excruciating pain that was to come, but soon realized it wasn't going to happen when he began to hear the unchecked sniggering coming from inside the shop.  
  
"Sorry, sorry. I just couldn't resist," laughed Lynch. "I was just fucking with you."  
  
Slamming the door open, Crowley kicked the still rolling bucket off the floor. Lynch ducked the flying metal object, still laughing. The last drops of the harmless, plain water splattered across the wooden floors as the bucket landed somewhere in the back of the shop. "Oh, come on," chortled Lynch, from his place beside the front counter. "That was pretty bloody brilliant. You should have seen your face!"  
  
"Where's Aziraphale?" demanded Crowley. Lynch's laughter settled into a sly smile. "Where is he?"  
  
"Snug as a bug in a hellish nightmare," replied Lynch, still grinning.  
  
As if on cue, a strangled cry came from behind the counter. While he couldn't see him, Crowley knew it was the angel and moved to go around to the back when Lynch raised a heavily gloved hand.  
  
"Now, now," he cautioned. In his hand, he held a small spray bottle. Crowley froze. "This is the real stuff, I assure you."  
  
Crowley's eyes flitted from the counter to the bottle in Lynch's hand. "I played that one too, Lynch. You're hardly original," he said, flatly.  
  
"But unlike you, Anthony, I'm not bluffing."  
  
Crowley stared at the bottle for another moment. "Bollocks," he finally said and made to move to the back of the counter again.  
  
"Do you want to risk it?" asked Lynch, raising the bottle higher. "I'd be happy to give a demonstration if you'd like to hold out your hand." When Crowley instinctively shoved his hand in his jacket pocket, the other demon smiled. "Didn't think so. Now, this little beauty can squirt out a stream of water as far as up to three feet. Pretty impressive, wouldn't you say?" He didn't wait for a response as Crowley strained to try and look over the counter to where Aziraphale lay. "I'd hate to be the one not to allow this tearful reunion to happen so, I'll step away and you can take a look at your halo mate. Any tricks from you and well, I don't believe I really need to finish the threat, do I?"  
  
Crowley suppressed the urge to explain to Lynch what he could do with his threat. He moved slowly around the counter and saw the still form of his counterpart lying sprawled out on the floor. He crouched down, well aware that Lynch now had the spray bottle pointed at his back. Putting a hand to the angel's shoulder, he shook him.  
  
"Aziraphale?"  
  
The blue eyes remained staring, looking at something somewhere past Crowley's left shoulder. What ever it was seemed horrible enough to warrant tears in the angel's eyes.  
  
"What did you do?" asked Crowley. "What's wrong with him?" "Well, nothing's really *wrong* with him, per se," said Lynch, slyly.  
  
"Why can't he see me?" demanded the other demon.  
  
"Probably because he's too busy seeing other things," replied Lynch with an enigmatic glow in his blood red eyes. "Or feeling other things. I'm giving him a little emotional tour of what humans have been going through these past few centuries."  
  
"What do you mean what humans have been going through?"  
  
"Pain. Suffering," spoke Lynch. A worshiping glaze clouded the demon's eyes as he spoke. "Human suffering. The most brilliant of all things on this planet. It's incredible the volumes of misery these creatures can go through, will go through," he intoned. "I'm giving the angel the full, audience participation, completely hands on experience of every single piece of human anguish that race has to offer."  
  
Crowley stared down unhappily at Aziraphale's still figure. The demon knew that angels were sensitive by nature. He remembered having that intimate connection with other beings, feeling words and emotions more clearly than he did now. It had been an insufferable trait he had been glad had gotten shut off once he had fallen. But Aziraphale.he'd be feeling the history of humanity's horrors at 10 fold the intensity.  
  
"Fix him," ordered Crowley.  
  
Lynch raised an eyebrow. "And why should I?"  
  
"Because this has nothing to do with him!"  
  
"On the contrary, Anthony. My business is with you and from what I can tell, the angel has quite a lot to do with you."  
  
"What do you want, Lynch?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"What's your bargain?"  
  
Without warning, Lynch squeezed the spray bottle. A small squirt of water came out from the nozzle and barely missed Crowley's left foot. The demon skidded backwards, hitting his back sharply against the wall.  
  
"You're pathetic," growled Lynch, observing the panicked look in Crowley's eyes. "And to think that at one time I actually admired you. You'd bargain for an angel? A minion of the Enemy? The lowest and most servile of all creatures?" Switching the spray bottle carefully to the other hand, Lynch walked closer to where Crowley stood. At each step, the other demon pressed as much as he could against the wall. "You used to be so clever. So inventive. Now after your little bout of nonexistence, you've become nothing but a sad bastard who's afraid of his own shadow." He stood now less than a foot away from Crowley. "Don't you get it? There is no bargain. I just wanted to have a little fun before I destroy you."  
  
Lynch's teeth glistened in the poor light of the bookshop as he parted his lips in a malicious grin. Crowley stared at the triumphant demon, fear and panic drenching the yellow eyes. "N-non-existence does change you," he managed.  
  
"Oh, really? Is that a fact?" asked Lynch, mockingly.  
  
Crowley nodded, swallowing. "It does."  
  
Lynch waited, looking indulgently patient, as if dealing with a small child. "Well?"  
  
"For instance," said Crowley. "It makes you realize you've got nothing to lose, Toby." Suddenly, all the fear Lynch had seen melted away. Instead, a grim smile replaced the earlier false mask of alarm. Stunned momentarily by the change, Lynch barely had time to think before a wing ripped out from Crowley's left shoulder and whacked the other demon hard on his right. Lynch sailed across the shop, crashing into a bookcase. The contents of the shelves rained down on the demon, burying him in dust and rare editions.  
  
Rather than watching Lynch's trajectory, Crowley kept his eye on the spray bottle that had been knocked out of Lynch's hand. It's top, now broken open, had leaked some of its contents onto the wooden floor a few feet away from him.  
  
There was an angered snarl from the first pile of books. A pair of neatly groomed wings punched their way out from the hill of leather bounds. "You'll pay for that," threatened Lynch, freeing himself.  
  
"Do you ever sssssssstop talking?" hissed Crowley. He rapidly approached the other demon, who lunged forward and tackled the former serpent hard onto the floor.  
  
"You'll enjoy this!" raged Lynch, as he took hold of Crowley's left wing. He spoke one sharp word and there was an audible crack. In the midst of his struggling to get free, Crowley screamed at the pain that flared through his now broken wing. "One down." grinned Lynch. Pinning the agonized demon down, Lynch smiled down at him, their faces nearly two inches apart. "Got any other clever tricks, *Anthony*?"  
  
"Just one," wheezed Crowley under the pain and pressure of Lynch pressing him down. He managed to ease out what had been stored in the breast pocket of his suit. Lynch had prepared to break of Crowley's hand until he saw the object the demon's fingers were clamped around in a fist.  
  
"Nice pen," laughed Lynch, staring at the non-lethal writing implement.  
  
"It writes underwater," croaked Crowley. With that, he stabbed the silver piece straight into one of Lynch's red eyes.  
  
Normally, a move like that, other than seriously pissing Lynch off, would have caused some pain and discomfort. So the demon was obviously surprised when he felt an indescribable agony rip into his very skull, as if acid was now eating his entire head inside out. Screaming, he clawed at the pen still stuck in his one eye and felt its sizzling heat when his hand clutched at it to try and pull it out.  
  
Getting up from where he lay, Crowley made a tight fist of his own burning hand that had clutched the pen. "Blessed instrument of God'll do that to you," Crowley coughed as he watched Lynch frail through the shop before falling backwards in pain. Calmly and carefully, the former serpent located the fallen spray bottle and picked it up gingerly with his good hand and approached the still screaming demon.  
  
"Happy trails, sucker," said Crowley before he dumped what was left of the holy water onto Lynch. 


	17. Consequence

Well, here's the last part, folks. As warned previously, it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger. But this story has done its run and with the demise of bastardly Lynch, it's time for the ending.  
  
Thank you to all who stuck around and/or came back when I started this story up again. I know it took me close to a year to complete, but at least it got done! Thank you, thank you for reading it and giving me feedback. Much, MUCH appreciated.  
  
*********************  
  
"That bloody SNAKE! He did it AGAIN!"  
  
A tremor rippled throughout all of Hell. Even those banished to the outskirts of the inferno, fated to be punished in the Dump, felt the quake and for the first time in a long time, felt a fresh new wave of fear.  
  
At the center of the underworld, a very angered Lucifer just got a lot angrier.  
  
It's not that Lynch's failure went unnoticed to the fallen angel, nor the demon's blatant disobedience and recklessness in utilizing spells that Lucifer had not sanctioned and had in actuality banished other demons to the Dump for using at one point. But now Lynch was a useless puddle of former demon, just like Ligur.  
  
Curse it all! He had had plans for Lynch. Vital, important plans. And now they were no more, all thanks to one little snake. Yet more plans gone up in smoke because of him. Glowering from his throne, the former Morningstar stood. This was the last straw. Lynch might have been playing with fire before with all those spells, but Crowley had just embraced a blazing inferno with his actions.  
  
It was time to bring Crowley home.  
  
+++++++++++  
  
"Bloody.uh..nevermind," said the Metatron, clipping off his sentence. He felt, rather than saw the Lord's unhappiness. The angel had felt it before. A very burdened kind of melancholy. The kind that only those who already knew the events to come, felt. "It's all a bit of a mess," offered the Voice of God.  
  
"Yes," concurred the Lord. "It sadly is."  
  
At the prolonged pause, the seraphim coughed politely. "Err..?"  
  
"I do hate having to wait," said the Lord, unhappily.  
  
"Well, couldn't you do a little.?" The Metatron gestured demonstratively.  
  
"No, not this time."  
  
"But."  
  
"Metatron."  
  
"Right. Whatever you say."  
  
+++++++++++  
  
The welcomed blackness was now slowly giving way to consciousness. Consciousness and a muted light. Aziraphale attempted to shy away from it, wanting to remain where there was nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to feel. Just blessed darkness forever and ever. But he could unfortunately, already feel the dampness of London's air against his face, as well as the rustle of leaves somewhere above his head.  
  
He was outside.  
  
Slowly, the angel opened his eyes, after having had to work the courage up to do it. He could only see gray clouds above him and feel the bristles of grass beneath his hands as he lay flat on his back. There was a comforting, warm energy coming from somewhere, like an old blanket. Tentatively, he blinked, half expecting the sensation to go away. It didn't.  
  
"How're you feeling?"  
  
Startled more than he should have been, Aziraphale tilted his head to the left, still lying on his back. Half dead grass brushed against his cheek. From his position, he saw Crowley. The demon was sitting close to him, though he sat on the other side of a black railing fence. Crowley's suit was dusty and looked gray in the dim light. The demon's right side was facing Aziraphale, divided every few inches by a black railing.  
  
Giving Aziraphale a sidelong look, Crowley put a cigarette up this mouth and took a drag. The smoke reflected off the black shades that hid the demon's eyes. Blinking at the smoking image, the angel said the first thing that came into mind.  
  
"You smoke?"  
  
"Spoils of war," replied the demon. Before Aziraphale had a chance to respond to that, he asked again, "How're you feeling?"  
  
Aziraphale turned his head back to the skies. "I don't know," he said, quietly. He felt.tired. Remarkably tired. But there was something slightly comforting about where he was. As if he was wrapped in some invisible, blanket of serenity. Turning his head to the other side, he noticed the looming figure of the church that was located a few blocks from his bookshop. It had been one of the reasons he had chosen this location to set up his shop. One of the last honest churches in London. A true place of worship.  
  
Instinctively, the angel ran his hand along the ground at his side. Holy ground.  
  
"Thought it might make you feel better," said Crowley, seeing Aziraphale's tentative examination. "The priest was nice enough to bless something for me.after I nearly ran him down with the Bentley."  
  
It was a half joke. Normally, Aziraphale could see himself smiling at it, somewhat exasperated, but tolerant of his counterpart's words. But now images of mangled bodies and a thousand screams of a thousand victims of vehicular accidents rang in the angel's mind. He winced at the pain, grateful he could not actually see it, though his poor imagination managed enough of a disturbing image.  
  
Keeping his head down, Crowley pulled out another cigarette from the pack he had taken off of Lynch's lower half and lighted it with the old one. Drawing up his right leg, he rested his arm on it. Concentrating on the smoking tobacco, he kept his eyes off of the angel. He knew there was something wrong about doing that, but he couldn't help it. If he looked, it would only make things harder.harder for him in any case.  
  
He heard Aziraphale slowly sit up. The action seemed to be harder for the angel than normal. Crowley almost moved to help him, but realized he wouldn't be able to cross that fence. It was Holy Ground. He couldn't touch it. He had had to all but drop Aziraphale onto the ground before while leaning over the railing.  
  
"Where's Lynch?" asked the angel. His voice sounded oddly weak to the demon. He wasn't used to that. Aziraphale, no matter how confused or muddled he sounded in terms of the logistics of certain things always had an underlying tone of confidence in his voice. That seemed to be absent now.  
  
"Half of him is still in your shop," said Crowley, breathing out a thin line of smoke. "There wasn't enough holy water to get rid of him completely..just the top bit." Despite being incredibly relieved that Lynch was no more, the demon felt little victory. It changed nothing. Well, nothing for him.  
  
"Your shop is a complete mess," he continued, still staring at the ground. "I'm sorry."  
  
For once, Aziraphale didn't really seem to care about the state of his books. Crowley stole a half-glance at the blond man and saw the blue eyes dulled with a kind of knowledgeable weariness. Seeing it, Crowley suddenly wished he could bring Lynch back, just so he could get another chance to destroy him.just a little slower. The angel grimaced, as if he sensed his counterpart's violent wishings.  
  
Taking a last drag, Crowley put out the last cigarette into the cement ground on his side of the fence. "I need to go," he said, flatly. "You should probably go inside.the church? Might help."  
  
"Yes," said Aziraphale. Crowley winced himself at that. The angel sounded half convinced. He sounded..doubtful.  
  
"Go and.pray, angel," said Crowley. He thought to try and sound hopeful himself.but that would have been a joke. It had been too many centuries since he had prayed. He couldn't even remember how anymore and he certainly didn't really believe it could do anything. At least.not for him.  
  
Scraping his other leg up, the demon moved to get to his feet. He twisted his torso gingerly as he pushed himself off the ground.  
  
"What happened to your shoulder?" asked Aziraphale, suddenly.  
  
The alertness of the angel's voice surprised Crowley and he involuntarily looked at the blue eyes that stared up at him. The spark of concern in the azure orbs, beneath the weariness gave the demon a small jolt of hope.  
  
"Nothing," he lied.  
  
"You're lying."  
  
"You should see the other guy," said Crowley, humorlessly.  
  
Shakily, Aziraphale rose to his feet. From his new position, he could see more of Crowley's left side and saw what remained of the demon's left hand. "Crowley! Your hand." His eyes unreadable through the black sunglasses, Crowley pushed the hand into his pocket. "Was it holy water?"  
  
"Instrument of God," said Crowley. "Got my pen blessed. I guess that meant the ink too." The demon tried not to think about the image of Lynch screaming in pain. He might enjoy the thought too much. He stood still as the angel's eyes traveled from his hand back up to his shoulders. For the last hour while Aziraphale had been asleep, he had tried to shrink his wings back in. He had succeeded in getting one and a half in. The broken bone on his left one had made it impossible to shove it back in completely. Even after having re-arranged his suit a little, there was a slight bulge near his shoulder blades.  
  
Seeing the misshapen suit, the weariness in the blue eyes mixed with a heavy sadness. "Crowley."  
  
"None of it really matters, angel," said the demon.  
  
"Your wings."  
  
"It doesn't matter," Crowley whispered, almost to himself. He closed his eyes behind the dark glasses and imagined the screams that would be keeping him company in the Dump. For all of eternity. What was one broken wing when he'd soon be scattered all about? "I deserve it," he added half to himself.  
  
That's when he felt the shift. Lifting his eyes, he saw Aziraphale quickly turn away, to hide it. But it was too late. The demon had seen the flash of agreement in the angel's eyes. Crowley couldn't blame him. The angel had seen the results of Hitler, wars, murder, petty crimes, the childish, unforgiving taunts of schoolchildren.all his fault. He had done all of those. He had not forced Aziraphale into getting a tour of human suffering, but he had certainly contributed to the length of the tour.  
  
*I was just doing my job,* Crowley told himself, dogmatically. The excuse was beyond pathetic. Because in the end, seeing that small glint of agreement in his counterpart's eyes had caused something profoundly painful in the demon. His banishment to the Dump would be bad, but knowing what Aziraphale thought of him now was worse.  
  
Crowley could no longer even remember the days before Aziraphale's opinion of him really mattered.  
  
Pulling his good hand out of his pocket, Crowley let the keys of the Bentley fall out and drop to the ground. Raising his shielded eyes, the demon set his face to expressionless. "I think we both need a change of scenery, yeah?"  
  
Aziraphale stared back at him. "Yes, I believe we do."  
  
"Best get inside then," suggested the demon.  
  
"Crowley." The demon waited. "Thank you," he finally said. It sounded oddly formal. The way the angel would have spoken to him centuries ago. Before- the-Agreement ago.  
  
"We're even now," Crowley replied.  
  
Aziraphale paused. "Yes, I suppose we are."  
  
"Goodbye, angel."  
  
The angel looked strangely conflicted for a moment. The blue eyes looked down a moment, as if trying to push aside a memory or an image. But in the end Aziraphale raised his head and nodded slightly before turning to walk toward the church.  
  
Watching the retreating back, Crowley realized he didn't even get last words to keep him company for the eternity to follow. Pushing the sunglasses firmly into place, the demon turned and walked away from the church grounds. He passed the Bentley that had been parked a few feet away and rounded the corner.  
  
It was early evening, but the SoHo streets were unusually empty. A few pedestrians were alternately jumping into still open shops and onto the street. No one really noticed the solitary young man in black who ambled down the sidewalk. Nor did they notice the gaping hole that suddenly tore itself into the cement street. They remained oblivious as the young man smiled grimly and stepped willingly into the opening that quickly closed behind him. The sidewalk was solid again, as if the yawning hole had never been there save for a small tendril of smoke rising in its wake.  
  
THE END 


End file.
